


we're walking our crooked path home

by Care



Category: Camp Takota (2014)
Genre: F/F, hemingway-levels of drinking, should not be role models for anyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Care/pseuds/Care
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey, how did you know you were into girls?" Elise asks suddenly.</p><p>"Why, are you looking?" Allison jokes, sipping her beer.</p><p>Elise shrugs. Allison gives her this look, her eyes all squinty and her mouth pursed to one side, like she both knows and isn't sure if Elise is fucking with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're walking our crooked path home

**Author's Note:**

> Could not have done this without shamelessly cribbing from the discussion [coffeesomemore](http://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeesomemore) and I had.
> 
> Title is from Kids on the Run by The Tallest Man on Earth.

Elise breaks up with Eli on a Sunday morning. He's down on his knees with an engagement ring, and she's staring at him, holding a box of Lucky Charms in her rattiest pajamas, and thinking -- shit. _Shit._ It takes her about half a second to process that it's probably not what she should be thinking about when her boyfriend is _proposing_ to her.

"No," she blurts out, before he's even done asking the question. "No, fuck, I can't."

Eli stares back at her, his mouth slightly agape. "Elise -- "

"I can't!" she says again, panicky, and accidentally flings a handful of cereal into the air. Little marshmallows scatter around her, plinking against the kitchen tile.

There's no saving it after that.

By the end of the week, Eli's moved out, and Elise is back to drinking entire bottles of wine by herself on the couch, watching Netflix, and eating cold leftover pizza.

"I should get a cat," she announces to no one, and helps herself to more wine.

 

*

 

"Wow," Allison says, opening the front door. "This is… This is really horrifying, Elise."

Elise pushes herself upright and surveys the living room. She doesn't know what Allison is talking about -- it's totally fine… So there's a pile of dirty laundry on the edge of the couch, and a shit ton of empty wine bottles taking up residence by the front door. Whatever, that's like what all normal people have in their apartments, right? Super normal. She's not ashamed. Elise gives Allison a bleary wave and lies back down on the couch, dragging a cushion over her face.

"Elise," Allison says, walking over an empty Doritos bag on the floor. Or Cheetos. Elise can't tell; she went through a lot of snack foods.

"Shhh," Elise says, waving her hand. "Quiet time, Al."

Allison wrestles the cushion away. "Hey, come on, you need to get up. It's been a week. You should, I don't know, leave the house."

"I've left the house. How do you think I got all that wine?" Take that, Allison!

"But you definitely didn't shower."

"No," Elise is forced to agree. "I haven't."

"I think you should shower."

"I think your mom is a buttface!" Elise shoots back. She's immediately contrite. "Sorry, I didn't mean that. I'm just -- " she sits up. "Fuck."

"Well, at least that's consistent with what you said on Twitter last night," Allison mutters, sitting down next to her.

Fuck. No. " _What?_ "

"Look, we all drunk Tweet sometimes. It's not a big deal -- "

"Shit, Allison, what did I say?" Elise asks, trying to keep the rising panic out of her voice.

"Um. You were just...maybe a little more foul-mouthed than most children's book authors should be -- "

"Shit!"

Allison shrugs. "That may have been among one of the words you chose to use." 

Elise swears again, makes a grab for her phone nearby. Allison reaches across and stills her arm. She drops her other hand against the back of Elise's neck. It feels nice. Eli used to rest his palm there when they watched movies together, but Allison's is different. Her hand's smaller, lighter. "Hey," she says, her face close to Elise's. "I'm really sorry about Eli."

"Thanks," Elise says, suddenly drained. She's kind of sorry about Eli too. Leave it to her to ruin a perfectly good relationship. She rests her head against Allison's shoulder, and lets out a shuddering sigh.

"Um," Allison says after a long minute. "I...don't know how to tell you this, but. You sort of smell."

"Oh god, fuck you," Elise says to Allison's laughing face, and gets up to shower.

 

*

 

Being single isn't as terrible as movies say it is. The worst part is telling friends and family what happened. Her mom especially doesn't seem to get it. But, whatever, it's fine. Elise is waiting for the romcom to come out where the romance is actually between a lady and her box wine, but until that day she'll just live it. She signs up for an OkCupid account while drunk off said box wine. It's a terrible idea, and her sober self could have foreseen that. Elise uploads a picture and writes two lines of a profile before exiting the window. 

So, after that little experiment, it's singlehood all the way! At least for a little while. That's what she tells Max and Allison over drinks. She's not even going to try anymore. She's just going to concentrate on her next book, let love come to her. It strikes her as the kind of perfect, brilliant plan that the _Eat, Pray, Love_ lady would have come up with. Maybe she did come up with it -- Elise isn't sure -- she got bored about a quarter into that movie and switched back to watching _Hoarders_.

(Weirdly, even though there's barely any information on her on OkCupid, she still has like five guys creepily message her by the end of the first day.)

"Can I ask you a question?" Allison says, after a few rounds, and Max leaves for the night. "Why did you say no to Eli?"

Elise shrugs. She waves the bartender down for another margarita. "I don't know."

"I thought he was like...the one for you."

"Maybe I don't have a one," Elise says, putting "one" in air quotes.

Allison starts laughing into her beer. "You were obsessed with finding your one guy when we were kids. Do you remember?"

"Too many Disney movies, not enough sense. I was brainwashed, Your Honor!" Elise fidgets in her seat, playing with the edges of a napkin. "Eli was… He was really great, but. It didn't feel right. I mean, it felt good -- mostly -- but the proposal. I don't know. It didn't occur to me to say yes."

Allison reaches over and puts her hand over Elise's. Her skin's really soft, Elise thinks. It's a long few seconds before Allison pulls away again.

"Hey, how did you know you were into girls?" Elise asks suddenly.

"Why, are you looking?" Allison jokes, sipping her beer.

Elise shrugs. Allison gives her this look, her eyes all squinty and her mouth pursed to one side, like she both knows and isn't sure if Elise is fucking with her.

"Elise," she says in a warning tone.

Elise gives in. She's a little drunk, and it's hard to keep it up with Allison's face like that. "No, I'm not looking. I'm just curious."

"That's what they all say," Allison grins. "Um. I guess...probably high school? Around the Lindsay Johnson incident. I really hated my friend Tessa's boyfriend. And then I realized I wanted to _be_ Tessa's boyfriend. So, that was that."

"Cool," Elise says, though she has a million more questions.

"Yeah."

Elise waits until after they close their tabs, walking unsteadily out into the brisk Chicago night. The cold air is like a slap in the face, sobering her up a little. They head towards the L in silence, their arms bumping occasionally. Elise tries to concentrate on walking in a straight line and not slipping on a patch of ice. It'd be the dumbest way to die, coming home tipsy from a bar.

"So, you and Lindsay…?" Elise asks when they reach the platform.

Allison laughs softly, her hands stuffed in her pockets. Elise can see the breathy clouds that form around Allison's mouth, illuminated by the platform lights. "What? Lindsay Johnson and I aren't anything."

"Why?"

"Well, for one, she has a husband."

"Seriously?"

"I didn't tell you?" Allison laughs again. "Yeah, she got married like last year. I think I told Max. I must've just forgot about it."

The train comes around the bend, and Elise forgets what she's gonna say. There's a crazy woman at the end of the car yelling about Hell, stuffing Jesus pamphlets into people's hands. Allison waves hers in Elise's face as they sway along with the bumpy rhythm of the train.

"Too late, I'm fucked," she says good-naturedly.

"Shut up, Al," Elise says, closing her eyes. She leans against Allison, close, resting her chin on top of Allison's head. It's warm on the train, a little too hot, and Elise is exhausted and dizzy with alcohol.

Allison puts an arm around Elise's waist, steadying. "Careful," and Elise can feel Allison saying it, the word traveling up Elise's body, until it feels like it's echoing in her own mouth.

 

*

 

Allison starts coming over a lot after that. They spend a good amount of time lying around in Elise's living room, catching up on _Game of Thrones_. Allison's got a shitty roommate, and a shitty apartment, and a shitty lease, and it isn't as if Elise is peppering her social calendar with engagements these days. At first it's weird hanging out without Max. Like they're cheating on her or something. Elise texts Max a bunch, inviting her to come over, but Max is usually busy -- her students or Takota stuff or this guy she's gone on a few dates with. After a while Elise stops feeling bad.

So -- it's her and Allison. Usually with food, which, hey, Elise isn't going to complain about. Every time she opens her fridge there's a new awesome surprise -- fig jam and homemade sourdough, this thinly-sliced prosciutto that basically melts on the tongue, a fucking amazing chicken soup with lemon and garlic. There's only one instance where it's not great, but come on -- Elise was never going get on board that blue-cheese-and-olives train anyway. Allison can call her palate uncultured all she wants.

"I never used that word," Allison says, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows, shaping chicken meatballs by the stove. "I would never say 'uncultured'. What am I, a dick?"

"I could see the thought bubble." Elise tops off her glass of wine, leaning back against the counter.

"You can't use my _thought bubble_ against me."

"Watch me."

Allison mock-leers at her, takes a step closer in a fake lunge.

"Gross!" Elise laughs, warding her off with the wine glass. "You've got chicken hands!"

"These," Allison says, holding up one of the meatballs, "are going to be fucking delicious."

Which Elise never doubted in the first place. Allison can make anything "fucking delicious". She could probably make cilantro taste less like soap (okay, Elise knows that's basically impossible -- even for Allison -- but her point still stands). She's a cooking savant. She'll pair the weirdest things, shit that Elise would never think to put together, and it'll taste amazing. Elise feels a little like she's using Allison for her cooking skills, but Allison does spend a lot of nights crashing on Elise's couch, so. Maybe it's a fair trade.

"I'm going to pair these with a cream sauce, and homemade pasta," Allison says.

"Oh my god, stop it. That's not fair."

"What, is this turning you on?"

Elise fans herself. "Yeah, I'm getting hot just thinking about it."

"That's right. I'm gonna make that pasta. Roll it out. Put it in boiling water -- " Allison lowers her voice until it gets gravelly. She's always loved doing this kind of shit; Elise remembers from when they were kids.

She groans. "Jesus Christ."

"Finish cooking it in the pan with the meatballs and the cream sauce -- "

"Oh, _fuck me_ ," Elise jokingly says in a dramatic voice.

"Then I'm gonna _plate it._ "

"Stop, no, I don't think I can take it. Whoo." Elise drains the last of her wine. "That's inappropriate, Al. No porn allowed in the kitchen. That's a rule."

Allison starts putting the meatballs in a sizzling pan. "You're cramping my style, Miller."

"Naw. No one could ever cramp your style." 

She reaches over to plug her phone in to the speakers next to Allison. Elise turns up Taylor Swift, Allison groaning and rolling her eyes. But as soon as We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together hits the chorus, Allison's dancing and singing along. She has the dorkiest dance moves, half like someone's dad and half like an overexcited golden retriever, which is pretty much the most charming thing Elise has ever seen. Who needs a boyfriend? Elise has got her best friend in the kitchen, jamming out to T Swift. She's never done that with any boyfriend.

"You pretend you're so cool," Elise says to her when the song ends.

"Like anyone buys it," Allison says, turning back to the stove.

Later, Allison puts the leftover meatballs in a Tupperware and leaves them in Elise's fridge. She eats them cold for breakfast the next morning.

 _you're amazing,_ she texts Allison.

 _;),_ Allison writes back.

 

*

 

"Do you think we don't have enough friends?" Allison asks one night while they drink wine and eat cheese off of a cutting board that's shaped like a moose.

Elise pauses the movie. "What?"

"We hang out all the time."

"So what?"

Allison shrugs and eats another piece of cheese. "We're almost thirty. Should we have more friends?"

"Are you breaking up with me or something?" Elise says. She's kind of kidding, but also kind of not. That's… It's weird. She takes a huge gulp of wine to wash away the weirdness.

"No! Shut up." Allison goes all red, the blush spreading up to her ears.

"I like hanging out with _you_ ," Elise says. She looks down into her glass. "Is that okay?"

Allison's got the strangest expression on her face. It's a mixture of familiar things, blended together into something Elise can't read at all. "Sure," Allison says, her voice a bit strangled. "Okay."

 

*

 

Elise walks into the kitchen one morning to find Allison absently massaging her lower back as she fiddles with the coffee maker. Thin, wintry sunshine plays off the chrome front of the fridge, and Elise can see waffles popped up in the toaster behind Allison's shoulder. There are two plates of bacon and eggs on the table, steaming a little. Shit. Elise can't remember the last time she ate a real breakfast. Usually she has a Kind bar or two, along with three cups of coffee, and tries to write a few paragraphs before she's inevitably sucked into a Wikipedia black hole.

"You made breakfast," Elise says, dumbstruck.

Allison whirls around, startled, and rams her hip against the counter. "Fuck!"

"I'm so sorry -- I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," Allison winces, rubbing gingerly at her side. "I'm fine."

"Thank you for breakfast? It looks amazing." Elise says.

Allison gets all flustered, the way she does when she's embarrassed about a compliment. "Yeah, well, you were out of Kind bars, so. I didn't want you to go hungry."

"Hey, um," Elise says, stuffing a forkful of divine scrambled eggs into her mouth. "Is something up with your back?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm just a little sore. I think I slept weird."

"It's the couch. I'm sorry. I've been meaning to get a new one for like a year."

Allison pours them each a cup of fresh coffee. "God, no. Don't be sorry. I'm the one who's crashing here all the time. I have a perfectly good bed at my apartment. It serves me right." She glances at her watch. "Shit, I have to get to class -- I'll see you later!"

She runs out the door before Elise has a chance to mention couch-shopping, as much as she hates the idea of going to Ikea. Or any furniture place.

That night Allison's over again. It's snow-raining out, splattering hard against the windowpanes. Elise has a feeling the sidewalks are going to be all iced over in the morning. It's cozy in the apartment though, her radiator hissing loudly, and Allison's made hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps. They put an old episode of _Buffy_ on in the background while they separately go through Tumblr on their respective laptops. It's pretty much Elise's ideal evening.

She's feeling pleasantly warm when 10 PM rolls around. Allison shuts her computer and starts dragging out the pile of sheets and pillows she's been making up the couch with.

"You know, Al, you should just sleep in my bed with me," Elise says, yawning. "It's a queen and there's plenty of room."

Allison is very still, her hands frozen over a flat sheet. "Um."

"Come on. The couch is uncomfortable."

"Elise…"

"Seriously, I feel really bad that you're sleeping on this shitty couch. I'm a terrible friend. Come on. It's not like we've never shared a bed before."

Allison turns her head slightly and gives Elise a little wan smile. "But the last time we were about 13 and I seem to remember you kicking."

"Yeah, I still do that."

It's not until they're both snuggled down in Elise's bed, the lights turned off and goodnights exchanged, that it occurs to Elise that it might be strange. She turns onto her side and stares at the dark shape of Allison's back, at her shoulders moving ever-so-slightly with each intake of breath. Outside she can hear the rain, and beyond that, sirens wailing in the far distance. Nighttime city noises. Nothing like being at camp at all. Had it really been that long since they had shared a bed?

She remembers being 13 and falling asleep with Allison, their heads close together on the same pillow, their sunburnt legs tangled up. It was the year Max got the flu and had to be forcibly sent home early. It was weird, but it felt _lonely_ without Max. Allison must have felt it too, because she started sleeping together with Elise in Elise's narrow bunk. They didn't say anything about it. The counselors didn't either, even though they should have. Elise was pretty sure Jillian Cohen and Marcy Soo were doing a little more than sleeping in Marcy's bed across the room. She and Allison were obviously just friends, but it helped -- the press of Allison against her, the slight whistling snore Allison made as she slept.

The next year they came back and it was unspoken -- they were too old now, and besides, Max was there. They didn't need to do that anymore. What was weird was that Elise had thought about it the whole time her parents drove her up, her palms getting sweaty and leaving fingerprints in the margins of the book she was reading.

Elise curls herself up, as tight as she can, making sure she doesn't infringe on Allison's side of the bed. She falls asleep with her hands clenched by her head, listening to the rain.

 

*

 

The next weekend Elise gets a new couch, and the delivery people help her carry the old one out to the curb. Allison says it's "ridiculously comfortable" and "you must want your bed back".

Elise says sure. Of course. But they're both boneless and exhausted by bedtime, and fall into Elise's bed and don't wake up again until 9 the next morning.

So -- yes. Elise's new couch is "ridiculously comfortable".

And Allison continues to sleep on the right side of Elise's bed.

 

*

 

The snow starts to melt -- actually melt -- sometime around mid-March. Which, fuck, is about time. Elise has been looking at tropical vacation places for weeks now. To celebrate, Max decides the three of them should get their shit together and drop a ton of money on a fancy dinner. Allison picks the restaurant; Max and Elise just have to put on nice clothes. Elise puts on the little red dress she bought for her book launch, does a cursory makeup job, and meets the two of them at the restaurant just a little bit late.

"Oh shit, Max," she says, putting a hand over her mouth when she gets there. "You look amazing."

Max does a twirl, her dress fanning out around her. "Do you like it? It was on sale."

"You look seriously hot," Allison says.

"So do you," Max adds.

Allison shrugs, looking down at her feet. She's smiling though, through the fringe of her hair. Elise sneaks a glance at her. Allison looks really good in her crisp white button-down and gray vest, a checkered bowtie around her neck. For once she didn't sleep over at Elise's, so the outfit's a surprise. Elise feels her cheeks heating up. Unexpected and weird.

Elise clears her throat, soft. "All the lesbians are gonna throw themselves at your feet."

"Yeah, it's hard to get to school with all those lesbians in the way. Always hanging around, wanting a date," Allison says, rolling her eyes. "Let's just go sit down, okay?"

They order drinks and appetizers -- rather, Allison orders appetizers, and Max orders drinks, and Elise sort of wishes there were mozzarella sticks on the menu. Her heels are pinching around her toes, and she kicks them off underneath the table. She accidentally bumps Allison's leg with hers, and the two of them both jump a little.

"Sorry," Elise mutters.

"It's fine -- did you take your shoes off?" Allison whispers, holding up a hand to her mouth to cover her laugh.

"Yes -- shut up!"

Max leans in. "Shoes off?"

"Obviously," Elise says.

Allison shrugs, giving them both a perplexed grin. "I don't...have this problem."

"Beauty is pain, asshole," Max says.

They drink and eat, and follow it up with more drinking and eating. Elise gets beef something. It's complicated enough that there are flowers and weird sauce drips all over the plate, and she smushes it around her fork and it's the best fucking thing she's ever put into her mouth. Well, second best, after Allison's grilled cheese.

Max suggests it over their shared dessert. Elise is busy angling her spoon for the best bit of fudgy cake and she doesn't hear Max at first.

"What?" she says, around the mouthful of chocolate.

"I said we should go up to the cabin and have a weekend," Max repeats. "The snow's melting, and it'll be gorgeous up there. We'll bring tons of tequila and have an awesome time. I think we all need it."

Allison's nodding drunkenly, bobbing her head just a little too much. "That sounds phenomenal. Or -- fun-nomenal. Yeah? Yeah?" She grins over the rim of her glass.

"Fun-nomenal!" Max cheers. "To a fun-nomenal weekend!"

They clink glasses.

Elise only has _marginal_ trouble walking out in her heels afterwards.

 

*

 

Max has some school district-wide teachers conference the day they're supposed to leave for the cabin. "Trust those douchebags to put it on a fucking Friday," she says. They offer to wait for her, all three of them driving up together, but Max waves them off. "I'll get there by evening. Save some dinner for me."

So Elise and Allison drive up in Allison's beat-up Subaru, the backseat and trunk filled with food. After Elise makes fun of Allison's choice of car ("I bought it used! It was a great deal!") for twenty minutes, she dozes off and doesn't wake up until they're almost there. She rubs her eyes blearily and tries to rub the seatbelt mark from her cheek. The sun's going down as Allison makes a left turn onto the unpaved dirt road leading up to the cabin.

"Sorry," Elise says, rueful.

Allison grins, shrugging. "Don't worry about it. I have this whole backlog of This American Life episodes to listen to anyway."

There's still a little snow here, more as they drive deeper into the trees. Elise feels like she's been waiting for spring her whole life at this point. The tires of Allison's car crunches down on packed snow in the driveway. They find the hide-a-key by the front door, wedge it open. It smells faintly musty, like someone hasn't aired it out in a while. They open a few windows to get a cross-current going, and unload the contents of the car into the fridge.

Max texts updates while Allison starts prepping dinner -- lasagna -- and Elise contributes by opening the wine and setting out some cheese and crackers for them to eat while waiting. The cell phone service is spotty at best; she can get a signal if she stands by the deck door, straining.

"Is she really going to miss my lasagna?" Allison says, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"She got dragged into some conversation with the superintendent. Sounds political," Elise says.

The lasagna's bubbling in the oven when Max calls -- the cabin landline. Allison picks up, wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear.

" _What?_ " Allison says. "Are you fucking kidding, Max? God, that sucks."

"What? What's happening?" Elise asks. She slices off a piece of cheddar and eats it. "Is Max okay?"

Allison brings the phone away from her mouth a little. "Freak snowstorm. Max can't leave."

"Wait -- _what_? That's not possible! I checked the weather like two days ago!" She takes the phone from Allison. "Hey, why -- what's going on?"

"There's a snowstorm. A fucking snowstorm. Can you believe that? I'm so sick of snowstorms I'm going to kill someone," Max says.

"Shit, Max. Look, Al and I will come home tomorrow -- "

Max snorts. "Elise, you're getting snow too there. It's supposed to snow through the night and into tomorrow. I don't think you're going anywhere. You and Al are gonna have to camp out. Hey, if the power goes out, there's a generator in the basement. By the water heater. Just so you know."

"Thanks," Elise says faintly.

She hangs up and leans across the bar. Allison's washing a plate, dunking it in a tub of soapy water.

"So," Elise says.

"So," Allison repeats. "There's more lasagna for us then?"

"Lasagna all weekend long," Elise says, wondering why she's suddenly nervous.

 

*

 

They brought enough wine for three, and it'd be such a waste if they didn't drink enough for Max -- that's how they reason that one out. There's something off, too, about the dynamic between her and Allison tonight, and that's reason enough for Elise to start getting shitfaced. She's not sure why it's different here at the cabin than it is in her apartment, but it is. Maybe it's the quiet, the solitude. Maybe it's all the Takota photographs framed all over the house. Whatever it is, Elise refuses to let it get to her. They pour brownie mix into a pan and stick it in the oven and go into the living room to wait.

"My turn, my turn," she says, lying on the carpet. "Um."

"If you can't think of something, you can always forfeit," Allison says.

Elise shakes her head. "No, I can do it! I, um. Wait, what's the category again?"

"Something embarrassing."

"Right. Well. The peeing."

Allison turns over on her stomach, pillowing her head on her arms. "That doesn't count. I already know about that."

"Are you telling me to drink?" Elise asks, holding her wineglass unsteadily.

"I'm telling you it doesn't count. Try again."

Elise sighs. "Uh. Okay. I know now. Do you remember Tanya Martinson? She was in our cabin? Just that one summer -- when we were like 15 or something."

"Tanya, yeah. She was from Indiana, right?" Allison picks at a patch of carpet idly. "Didn't she have a hot brother who came on Visitors Day?"

"Yeah, about that…"

Allison starts laughing. "No, you didn't -- "

"I _tried_! I didn't succeed! He was so hot, Al. And he was like 18, and totally cool. He was going to Purdue in the fall. I tried to kiss him after the talent show, behind the mess, and he totally rejected me. Like, he _violently_ jerked away from me. It was so humiliating." The memory of it still kind of stings. Elise pulls her sweatshirt hood deep over her face, trying to hide her expression.

Allison tugs her hands away, her grip strong. "Come on, you were 15. You were totally going for it. I have to respect that."

"Even though I lied and told you and Max I was upset because I was PMSing?"

"Yeah, even though." Allison laughs again. "Whatever. I barely remember that."

Elise rolls her eyes good-naturedly and bumps Allison with her shoulder. "Yeah, because you were busy macking on Lindsay Johnson."

"Yeah, that," Allison says, not laughing anymore. She looks down.

"You don't…" Elise starts timidly. "You don't regret it, do you?"

Allison gives her a sideways glance. "Regret Lindsay? Like...how? Do I regret kissing her? No."

"No, I mean...not following up on it. Or something. I don't know."

"I don't regret that," Allison says slowly, carefully.

Elise sits up. "What is it?"

"What?"

"You're not saying something. You're leaving something out. On purpose. Tell me."

"It's not important."

"Allison," Elise says. "Tell me."

Allison gets to her feet, going for the wine bottle. "Do you want more?"

"No, I want to know what you're not telling me," Elise says, following Allison across the room with her eyes.

"I -- " Allison lets out a sigh, runs a hand through her hair. It flops back into her face. "You don't want to know."

"I do."

"No, you don't, Elise."

Elise brings her knees up to her chest. "Yes, I do."

"Fine. That summer -- when I was kissing Lindsay Johnson, I was thinking about you," Allison says, turning her back on Elise, almost mumbling the last part of the sentence into her glass.

It's so quiet, just the fire crackling in the woodstove, and the house settling around them. Elise takes a breath, wrestling with the revelation. Her hands are tingling, like she has pins and needles, and she shakes them out a little.

"Oh," she says.

"Yeah. It's, like, it's not a big deal. At all." Allison's fidgeting with something on the bar. "I'm sorry if it makes you feel weird. That wasn't my intention. It was years ago."

"No, I'm fine. It's totally fine." Elise isn't sure it's a lie -- she could be fine.

"I'm sorry," Allison says again. "I don't want to make things awkward."

"They're not awkward. It's fine. Honestly, it's...pretty flattering. Glad to know someone liked me then, even if it wasn't Tanya's older brother." Elise takes a breath after that, slow. She's shaking a little. She has to stop drinking.

Allison turns around. She's flushed, the red of it running up the side of her face and down her neck. "Okay."

"So," Elise says, trying to lighten the mood. "You liiiiiked me. You had a cruuuuush on me."

"It's official. I hate you." Allison lobs a dishtowel at her.

Elise laughs, ducking out of the way. "No, you liiiiike me."

"That was over ten years ago!"

The oven timer goes off with a shrill beep. Allison abandons her glass for a dishtowel, cracking open the oven door and peering in. Elise walks over. There's the sweet, chocolatey aroma of the brownies wafting out of the kitchen. Allison's reaching into the oven to take out the pan.

"Are they done?" she asks, kind of close to Allison, but not even that close.

Allison jumps, her hand slipping. "Ow!" she yelps.

Shit. 

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," Elise says immediately.

Allison's staring down at her hand, an angry red welt starting to appear on the side of her palm. Elise runs over to the sink and turns on the cold water tap. The water's icy to the touch. She feels like she sobers up just from the contact.

"Here," she says. "Come put your hand under the tap."

"It's fine," Allison says, wincing slightly at the water temperature. "Don't worry about it."

"No, it was my fault."

Allison shrugs. "I should've been paying attention. It's fine. I burn myself in class all the time."

"Okay, yeah, no big deal, whatever. I'm Allison Henry -- I'm such a badass. I burn myself all the time, har har har." Elise turns the oven off and takes the brownies out -- with mitts this time -- and sets the pan on top of one of the stove burners.

"That's a surprisingly spot-on impression of me." Allison turns off the tap and wraps her hand in a dishtowel.

"I bet Max keeps stuff in the bathroom," Elise mutters, and goes to go ransack the medicine cabinet. She comes back with an armful of medications and a First Aid kit, dumping them on the kitchen counter next to the brownie pan. She sorts through them -- neosporin, aloe vera, acne stuff. "Arnica?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Allison says, reaching out a hand.

Elise squirts a palmful of the stuff onto the tips of her fingers. She unwraps the towel from the wound with her free hand, gently applying the ointment to Allison's skin. She dabs as softly as she can, feeling the heat from the burn. Allison lets out a small, shaky breath. Elise cups Allison's hand with hers, Allison's skin a little cold from the water, but it warms up fast with Elise touching it.

Allison makes a hissing sound, and her hand jerks slightly.

"Sorry. Did I hurt you?" Elise asks. "I'm almost done."

She glances up. Their heads are close together, both bowed over their hands. Elise can see the bridge of Allison's nose through the fringe of her hair, a corner of her cheek, and the slight curve of her mouth. Oh, Elise thinks, feeling something go through her. Like a winter wind cutting through her body.

"I'm fine," Allison mumbles, low in her throat.

Elise grabs the First Aid kit and rummages through it for gauze bandages. She unwinds the roll and rips a strip off with her teeth.

"Is that sanitary?" Allison says, smiling a little bit.

"Probably not." Elise wraps the gauze around Allison's hand once, careful, her fingers feeling strangely unsteady. "Tight enough?"

"Um. Yeah," Allison says, her voice dropping to something simultaneously soft and gravelly.

Elise won't know why this is moment. She's not sure what it is about it -- the stillness of the cabin, the smell of the brownies, Allison's hand in hers. It could have been the way Allison dropped her eyes, as if she were suddenly shy. Elise holds the bandage in place with one hand, and with the other she lifts Allison's chin a little and drops her head to kiss her. Surprise and adrenaline kicks through Elise, as if she's been dunked in water. She thinks of when they were kids, at Takoda, cannonballing off the dock and into the icy lakewater. It somehow feels just like that -- the amazing breathlessness of it included. The unexpected smack of hitting the surface.

Allison makes a small whimper against Elise's mouth, and she slides a hand against the back of Elise's neck, her fingers cold and so much smaller than what Elise is used to. She leans up, until she's solidly pressed against Elise. Allison smells like woodsmoke and baking, and it's so wonderful Elise can barely breathe. So she doesn't, not really. She kisses Allison for several long minutes, until her hand's cramping from clutching the bandage, the gauze twisted in her hold.

"Oh shit, sorry," she says, uncurling her fingers. She starts redoing the bandage. "I didn't mean to just -- sorry. I should've finished this first."

"Yeah," Allison says faintly. "Warn a girl next time."

Elise fixes the gauze in place with a bit of medical tape. She holds Allison's hand up in hers, displaying her nursing efforts. "There," she says, jittery. "Florence Nightingaled it up for you."

"Yeah, you -- you should get a medal," Allison says, sounding like she feels just as jittery.

They pack away all the First Aid stuff, putting it back in the bathroom. Elise bumps her arm against Allison by accident and they jerk apart.

"Was it a joke?" Allison asks, once they've turned off the bathroom light. "Like, you're making up for my crush on you from camp?"

Elise squints at Allison's face in the dim hallway. "The...kiss? No! I wouldn't _joke_ about that. I -- " She realizes her cheeks feel hot, and she swallows the rest of the sentence. She feels like she might throw up. She shouldn't have done it, that's what it is. Allison hates her now. Elise has ruined their friendship forever. "We can forget it happened, if you want."

"No, Elise, stop." Allison grabs her wrist. "I want -- can I kiss you again?"

She must nod. She must do _something_ because then Allison's lips are warm on hers again, sending pleasant shocks through Elise's body. She doesn't remember being backed up against the wall, but eventually that's where they end up -- making out next to the bathroom, the frame of something digging into Elise's back as she thoroughly explores Allison's mouth with her tongue.

"There's -- something -- " she gets out between kisses. "My -- back -- "

"Oh!" Allison draws back, and Elise makes a tiny noise of complaint. "Do you want to… There's a bed? Not that I'm implying anything. I'm a total gentleman -- "

Elise kisses Allison again, and they wordlessly make their way into the bedroom so they can sprawl out on top of the quilt. The room is dark, snow piling up outside the window, the only light the blueish cast of the cloudy sky. It makes Elise feel cocooned. She's always liked being snowed in.

"I have a confession," Allison says, tracing the shell of Elise's ear with her index finger.

"Tell me," Elise says.

"I...might still have a crush on you," Allison says. "I might have had a crush on you for a while."

Elise curves her palm beneath Allison's chin, and Allison turns her head to kiss it. "I think I might have had a crush on you for a while, too."

They look at each other for a moment, still touching, suspended.

"Sorry you burned your hand," Elise says.

"I'm not," Allison says.

Elise grins.

It snows the whole night.

 

*

 

The plows clear the roads enough that they can drive back late Sunday afternoon. They repack the car and head off slowly, Elise at the wheel, Allison fiddling with the radio stations. When they get to the highway, Elise reaches over and takes Allison's hand in hers. It's sunny, this brilliant warm sunshine that feels like it might actually be spring. NPR hums low in the background as they both put on sunglasses.

"Hey," Allison says after half a mile. "We're gonna have to tell Max."

"Not it!" Elise yells immediately.

"...seriously?"

"Don't be bitter because you lost."

Allison laughs. "Yeah, okay. I'll just hold onto the grudge until it festers."

"No," Elise says breezily, "you liiiiike me."

Allison kisses their intertwined hands. It's so cheesy and great -- in the way Allison seems to make work. Her smile is wide, blinding. "I do."


End file.
